


My Hands Are Tied

by Aziexxx



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Love at First Sight, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziexxx/pseuds/Aziexxx
Summary: Anne Wheeler is by no means a timid woman; life before the circus may have taught her to be patient and quiet, to be cautious of charming white men, but never had it made her doubt herself. She is a grown woman, determined not to make the same mistakes as her mother before her.Then, she meets Phillip Carlyle.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I had to write this fic because the TGS bug got me good. The Anne/Phillip storyline was especially something I just couldn't stop thinking about, fleshing it out in my mind. 
> 
> So, I hope you enjoy this little retelling of mine! Comments are always much appreciated! <3

The journey to New York was perhaps the most arduous and subdued excursion of Anne's life. Not only was there the physical distance to overcome - the difficulty of which was heightened by the constant abuse that being colored folk inevitably garnered - but also the emotional strain of her mother having died so very recently.

Even days after the fact, fingers clasped tightly within W.D.'s own, Anne was nearly overcome with an all encompassing grief. It pulled at her heart and wrenched the breath from her lungs, shadowing her soul with a bitter sadness.

Their only consolation at this time, as hollow as it felt, was the money their Master had gifted unto them. The north was better for colored folk, he had said, and better yet for those who had substantial coin to pay for their passage there. And so they had left, sombre and scared and alone.

W.D. smiled at Anne reassuringly, though she could see the tension barely veiled behind that smile. Soon they would reach their destination, and they would need to find work. Their Master's money, though generous, would not last forever.

Thinking of the man now brought up age-old feelings of frustration and fondness for Anne, and it was a distraction she gladly allowed herself to succumb to, mind recalling those last few, painful days she had spent in his company.

_"...and soon enough she shall be well again, Anne, just you wait. God would not tear from this world so beautiful a soul, I am sure of it," her Master said, brushing away her helpless tears._

_Anne nodded in reply, voice caught thick and useless in her throat. God forgive her, but she almost didn't_ want _her mother to survive this, not and live forevermore as a shadow of her former self, hollowed to bone and skin._

_She watches as her Master moves over to her mother's bedside, tucking the covers neatly under her chin, and the open affection in the gesture loosens Anne's tongue._

_"Do you truly love her?" She asks, voice quiet but strong._

_He startles at the question, it is clear to see, but quickly recovers. Smiling gently at Anne, he lifts her mother's hand to his face, lips brushing feather-light against her knuckles._

_"Yes, sweetheart," he tells her, voice now choked with emotion like Anne's never heard before. "More than words can say. Just as she loves me."_

_The sincerity in his tone, in his actions, only frustrates Anne - this man had been their jailor, in truth, and no pretty words could change the reality of that. Even now, with slavery abolished, the stain of that truth would forever mark Anne and those she loved. Her anger, and helplessness, caused her tongue to loosen further._

_"Are you my father?"_

_Her question is met with silence, as she had expected. Anne knew it was foolish and careless of her to ask such a thing - though it did happened, no Master would lay claim to any child they'd foisted onto a_ slave _\- but she could not help herself. She knew what it meant to be as fair as she was, especially in comparison to her mother and brother, who both were quite dark of skin. She_ needed _to know._

_"Anne... dearest," Master finally spoke, his voice hushed and hesitant and nothing at all like the loud, assured tones she was used to. "I wish it were so. More than anything. But I am not."_

_Anne opened her mouth to protest - she was no fool, and would not have her query be so easily dismissed - but her Master simply raised a hand, silencing her as he seemed to ponder what more to say._

_"You know I have favoured you, and your brother in turn. But granting the both of you the boons that I have, allowing you to pursue that delightful oddity of a pastime of yours... these were not the acts of a father. Though I have long considered you my responsibility, for my failure to protect your mother and others like her, you are not_ mine, _not truly_. 

 _"Long before you were born, or W.D. for that matter, this plantation was run by my brother. I allowed it for it was his passion, as much as dancing in the air seems to be yours. Only I soon discovered that he had been..._ taking liberties _with some of the girls here. I sent him away as soon as I knew, you know I have never let such a thing go unpunished, and thought that was the end of the matter. But then there was your mother," her Master sounds so wistful, and so sad, that some of Anne's anger slowly slips away. Her mind is still reeling at the truth of her parentage, but Master clearly has more he wishes to tell her and this is not a story Anne has ever heard before or is likely to hear again. Her entire attention focuses upon the tale laid out before her._

 _"I had never questioned my actions before meeting her. I was taught growing up that slavery was necessary, and I had never before considered the possibility that the- the_ slaves _I owned were also_ people _. It's horrendous, isn't it? And there are still people today, despite what the law now says, who will no doubt continue to think as such. But your mother truly opened my eyes. She was so very honest and earnest and_ good _despite the severity of her situation. The beauty of her soul all but overcame that of her physical beauty. I was entranced. All these years I have tried to show her I am not the same man as my brother, that my love is true."_

_Finally he releases her hand, tucking it under the blanket as he straightens to stand._

_"I have loved her all these years, dear Anne - and loved you, her children - and yet still she does not believe me."_

_Anne cannot help but scoff quietly at this statement, though regrets having done so when her Master turns to face her, brow raised._

_"Forgive me, Mas-_ Sir _," Anne trips over the new title, still calling the man Master in her mind. "But surely the only true way to demonstrate such a love would be to- well, I know you could not_ marry _her, but to accept her as your own? In the eyes of God? If truly you wished to show her you loved her-"_

_"Anne!" And, finally, it seemed, her Master's patience had run out. Slave though she may no longer be, it would be stupid not to keep a civil tongue, she knew. "You know that cannot be. All of this, my fields and properties and business, it would be for naught were it publicly known I love a colored woman. Surely you understand that?"_

_"I do understand, Sir," Anne replied, blinking away the tears that his words had wrought. "I understand that for all your claims of loving my mother, you would never be willing to show her, to show the world, this love. And I do not blame you for it. You are a man of great wealth and power and prestige. What does one_ colored _woman's love matter in the face of all that?"_

_Her Master's mouth gapes open by the end of her tirade, eyes wide, but Anne is tired now and wishes to speak to him no longer. And for once, she realises, she does not have to. She joins her mother under the covers, tucking herself in close like she always has, and closes her eyes._

The train jolts to a stop, neatly yanking Anne out of her memories. W.D. pulls her to stand close beside him as they all slowly begin to exit the train, the colored section an overheated, overcrowded space that Anne cannot wait to depart from.

Her first breath of air is crisp, and far cooler than what she is used to in the south. It feels as though the cold air is cleansing her, washing away the torments of her past, if only for this brief moment. She turns to W.D., genuine smile on her face, before allowing him to tug her along behind the swift-moving crowd of people exiting the station.


	2. Chapter 2

When Anne and W.D. first join P.T. Barnum's museum troupe, they keep to themselves. Although the company they now keep is far stranger than they themselves, the siblings have learned to remain cautious when first meeting people.

To say Anne is pleasantly surprised at their joyous reception is a gross understatement. She has truly never before felt such a deep understanding and connection with a group of people, and if her brother's quiet look of wonderment is anything to go by, he shares the sentiment.

They are quickly included into the most loving of families, and moreover getting paid to do that which they love! Spinning through the air, or hanging from her hoops, Anne feels almost giddy with happiness. To think at her last job she had earned only half of this salary, but done twice as much physical labour!

Were it not for W.D. remaining steadfast as her own personal, protective shadow, Anne might think she had somehow been transported into a wonderful new life.

It is not all rainbows and unicorns, however, as Anne is one day reminded in the worst of ways.

She and Lettie had decided, being now some weeks into their stay at the circus and therefore considerably more wealthy for it, to go shopping. It seemed harmless enough an idea, rejuvenated as they were in newfound confidence.

Lettie had professed a desire to purchase some new lace for one of her dresses, and Anne herself wished to surprise her brother with a gift. It was something they had always whispered about doing for one other, midnight wishes held close to their hearts, back when they had thought they would live and die under the scorching southern sun.

The first store Lettie drags her into happens to have both male and female clothing on offer, thus conveniently making it an ideal place for the two of them to most easily buy their goods.

As they enter, bell jingling above their heads, a creeping unease settles upon Anne's shoulders, though in her excitement she is foolish enough to dismiss it.

Lettie leads her by the hand to the rows of lace on offer, all manner of color and design displayed. Anne openly admires them, fingertips lightly caressing the silky fabric. Her eyes are continuously drawn to one particular lace, a soft pink tucked into the far corner of the display, which she idly imagines on her own trapeze outfit.

She and Lettie are quietly, though giddily, discussing which lace would best suit Lettie's new purple gown when a large hand clamps down hard upon Anne's arm.

She gasps, startled, and comes face to face with a man she vaguely recognises as one of the protestors from the night before. His voice is rank with the stench of alcohol when he addresses her, fingers tight enough to bruise the delicate skin of her wrist.

"What do you think _you're_ doing in here, huh? Think you can waltz around like you own the town, now that you've a bit a coin in yer pockets?"

He begins to drag Anne towards the door, seemingly uncaring of her yelps of pain and alarmed pleas that he let her go.

It is only Lettie's considerable bulk, blocking the doorway, that finally stops him in his tracks. She holds her umbrella aloft, pointed at the man, as she demands,

"You let her go, you beast! You have no right to lay a hand on her!"

"Hah! I'm the beast?" The man guffaws, and in his distraction Anne finally yanks her arm back to herself, cradling the throbbing flesh against her chest. " _You're_ the beast! You and this _spook_ , and all the other freaks you've sequestered away in that den of sin!"

As Lettie roars an indignant reply to their assailant, Anne turns to gauge the reaction of the other patrons in the store. Although some are gaping at the altercation, most have ducked their heads, as though to entirely ignore the uproar before them.

It is the elderly store owner's expression, however, that moves Anne to action. Such anger is almost always directed at people like her, Anne has found, and it would be best that they leave before they are made to, or worse - the constables are called.

She hastily moves to grab Lettie's sleeve, leaving a wide berth between herself and her attacker. In quiet, calm undertones, Anne points out what she is sure Lettie herself is also becoming aware of. The older woman takes a moment to observe the store owner herself and, spotting the harsh frown on the elderly lady's face, she squares her shoulders.

Frowning angrily at the vile man who has so easily ruined their happy little trip, Lettie guides Anne out of the store, the man's mocking laughter following them out. 

In the end, it was all said and done in a matter of minutes, but Anne feels as though half of the morning has passed her by. 

She spies Lettie hastily swiping at her eyes, but decides not to comment on it, instead clutching the other woman's hand within her own as they trudge back home. Lettie smiles gratefully at this, her own hand holding back just as tight.

When they get back to the circus, W.D. takes but one look at Anne's face and knows something has happened. As Anne explains how their happy little jaunt into town had gone so awry, she silently laments her brother's inevitable reaction. Much as she loves him, W.D. can be quite overprotective at times, and will no doubt be loathe to let her part from his sight again in the near future.

He gently coats her wrist with an ointment, frowning at the damage such a cruel and heavy hand had caused. The gel soothes her throbbing skin, and her brother's love is all the balm she needs for the deeper wounds the encounter had wrought.

Later that night, a short while before she is to take the stage, Anne does manage to get a minute to herself, she is glad to find. She and her brother are quite the popular act, and as such Barnum sometimes asks that they perform alone.

Anne closes her eyes as she waits for her cue to join her brother, listening to the crowd cheer for W.D. during his solo slot.

A light tap to her shoulder startles her out of her calm, however, and she turns to see none other than the elderly store owner stood behind her.

Anne's mind reels at the sight of the woman, immediately fearful that the lady is here to reprimand her for the earlier uproar they had caused at her establishment or perhaps to accuse Anne of stealing - which, unfortunately, would not be the first time Anne was falsely accused of doing so. 

The woman does neither. 

Instead, she smiles at Anne, the harsh lines of her pale face softened by the expression.

"I do wish you hadn't left so quickly this morning, young lady," the woman gently reprimands, stepping closer so as not to be overheard by the nosy circus crew stood loitering around them. "Had you stayed, you might have heard me tell that horrid man to leave my store. But no matter. If you ever wish to return again, know that all are welcome. No matter what goes on elsewhere, under my roof I'll not have such ignorant violence."

The lady pulls something small out of her pocket, her blue-grey eyes sparkling with an ageless mischief.

"Here, have this," she tugs Anne's hand into her own, placing something soft and smooth into her palm. "I saw you admiring it. Consider this my apology, of sorts, that I could do no more for you. Now, off you go, you have a show to perform, do you not?"

Anne stares in disbelief at the long length of pink lace in her hand, happy tears filling her eyes.

"I... thank you, ma'am. You- _thank you_."

Going by the kind, but sad look on the older woman's face, Anne knows the lady realises Anne's thanks are not just for the ribbon. Smiling tearfully at her, Anne hastily wraps the lace about her waist, tying it closed at the front of her bodice.

She caresses the soft loops of fabric, awed once more by its style and quality, before turning to proudly join her brother on stage, heart lightening even further to have received such love from such an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Phillip! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so apparently when I say 'a few days' what I really mean is a month. Apologies for the delay! *covers face behind hands*

Anne is trying very hard not to let her anger and exhaustion show, but after the day she has had she thinks even she can be forgiven for being a little sharp with those around her.

A miscalculation with the weights during their usual morning practice had resulted in one of the other trapeze girls, Sarah, getting injured. What had followed was a particularly horrible trip to the hospital to ensure Sarah's ankle was seen to. The protestors had followed them all the way there and back, cursing and hollering at the top of their lungs. A better woman might have held her head high and ignored it, but Anne could not help but let the words sink into her heart.

And then of course due to Sarah's absence, Anne suddenly had two more acts to complete during their evening performance.

Which is how she came to be in this situation, strolling off stage with W.D. at her side, pretending like her whole body was not aching with over-exertion.

"...back here, get out front!" She heard Barnum bark, gesturing towards the curtains she was walking through as he made his way down the stairs. "Oh, W.D., Anne, I want to introduce my newest hire, Mr. Phillip Carlyle."

He pulls forward a slightly disheveled looking man, whose fancy attire and slicked back hair immediately identify him as being a member of the upper class.

W.D. reaches out to shake the stranger's hand once they reach him, his performer persona firmly in place. Seeing the man up close, Anne suddenly realises he is the same young man she had seen earlier, standing in the rafters.

It had been a small, inconsequential moment overall, so much so that Anne had forgotten it. But looking into Mr. Carlyle's eyes now seems to rejuvenate the memory, calling it forth in her mind in crystal clear imagery. She had been swinging in the air, swinging towards him, when their eyes had met. Though she can't decipher the expression he had had on his face, the way his eyes had latched onto her she does recall. It had felt, for that fleeting moment, as though the force of his gaze alone could have held her suspended in front of him, suspended in that moment.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she hears her brother say, smiling politely like their mother had taught them to.

"Yeah, a pleasure," Mr. Carlyle responds somewhat dismissively, eyes constantly flickering over to Anne's face. It annoys her, for some reason she cannot name, that he does not care to return her brother's politeness, and this in turn makes her sharp with him.

"And what is your act, Mr. Carlyle?" she asks him, almost goading, her eyes mischievous. She does not truly expect him to have one and, unsurprisingly, he sheepishly responds,

"I don't have an act," His shining blue eyes are still caught on her face, as though he can't look away. Is he perhaps surprised a woman of color has been allowed to perform?

She huffs out a laugh at the thought, daring to meet his eyes where any other woman of her station might have lowered them.

"Everyone's got an act," she replies, keeping their gazes locked as she brushes past him. She feels his eyes on her all the way out of the hall and it makes her shiver, though she can't quite say why.

Rolling her shoulders to try and alleviate her aching muscles, she walks over to Lettie's vanity mirror, smiling kindly at her friend. Lettie has grown so much in confidence in the time Anne has known her, and it never fails to lighten Anne's heart when she sees the other woman embracing her looks.

"What's got you in a huff?" Lettie asks, perceptive as always, applying rouge to her cheeks as Anne leans her hip against the tabletop.

"Nothing," Anne mutters, looking at her feet as she scuffs them on the ground. Lettie raises a brow at Anne's response, expression disbelieving.

"Alright, alright," Anne laughs, holding her hand over Lettie's eyes when the scrutiny is too much to bear. "I'm just tired. What with Sarah and the protestors... and now this new hire of Barnum's, it's all been quite trying, to be honest."

"New hire?" Lettie asks, holding out her comb to Anne, who takes it without protest.

"Yes, a Mr. Phillip Carlyle," Anne begins to softly brush out Lettie's hair, smiling gently at her friend in the mirror when she hums contentedly. "He's a rich boy, from what I can tell. White, obviously. I think he may have a problem with us."

"What, the circus? Isn't that counterintuitive if he's working here now?" 

"No, _us_ ," Anne huffs, carefully twisting Lettie's hair into a bun. "He was rather brusque with W.D. and would not stop staring at me! As though he was shocked to see me here. I could feel his eyes on me all the way- _why_ are you laughing?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Anne," Lettie giggled, waving her fan over her face. "It's just... are you sure he didn't like you? Perhaps there was some other reason he was staring at you?"

For a moment Anne does not understand Lettie's question, or the strange inflection in her tone, too caught up in her own interpretation of her meeting with Mr. Carlyle. Once she does understand Lettie's meaning, however, she lightly smacks her friend's arm, causing the older woman to break out into renewed peals of laughter.

"Oh, Lettie, only you would think to say such a thing!" Anne scoffed, resuming her work on Lettie's hair as the woman in question continued to shake with the force of her giggles. "I can assure you that was not the case. He was just another pretty white boy, probably one who hasn't had cause to see a colored woman outside of his home."

"Oh, he's pretty is he?" Lettie smirks, fanning herself as Anne's face slowly begins to blush.

"Oh, I just meant- that is- hush, you!" Anne blustered, grabbing the offensive fan out of her hands. "And anyhow, I think _I_ would notice if someone were looking at me... like _that_." 

"Like you noticed when Robert first began making cow eyes at you?" Lettie asked sweetly, batting her freshly painted eyelashes at Anne.

Gasping in embarrassment, Anne shoved at Lettie's arm, blushing further to think of _that_ whole situation. W.D. had forbidden her from setting foot within fifty yards of poor Robert once he'd learned of the crush the man had on Anne, who herself had not realised what was going on initially, much to everyone's amusement.

" _Anyway_ , tell me about this new oil you're using. Your beard really does look very nice since you began using it..."

\---------

When he'd first stepped foot into the circus, Phillip had thought himself to be the grandest of idiots. The place had been chaotic, and loud, with all manner of common folk prancing about. And even then, he had been glad to be an idiot, if being an idiot always led to such excitement and joy.

And then, oh then, he had seen _her_.

It was as though the world had stood still around him, breath caught in his throat at the mere sight of her. She had been mesmerising, not only for her beauty - and by God was she beautiful - but because of what she had been _doing_.

Gliding so gracefully through the air, so seamlessly, she had been magnificent to behold. Almost unbidden, the words _who was that_ had escaped his lips, and then Barnum was leading him down the stairs and had beckoned her over.

He managed to shake the male performer's hand, uttering some niceties or other that he didn't even think about, gaze consistently wandering over to _her_. Anne, Barnum said her name was. 

She asked after his act, no doubt assuming him to be a performer. Even as he replied in the negative, barely noticing what he was saying when she was looking at him like _that_ , in his mind's eye he was still replaying the way she'd moved in the air earlier.

And then, just as soon as she had appeared, she disappeared around the corner. He truly could not force himself to look away. When he turned back around, Barnum already moving on to some task or other, the male performer from earlier stepped in front of Phillip.

What was his name? J.D.? W.D.? Some sort of initials, anyway. Raising his brows, Phillip sidestepped the taller man, slightly unnerved at the expression on his face.

\---------

After that first initial meeting, Anne and Phillip rarely have cause to run into each other, as his role is mainly an administrative one.

Anne sometimes watches him out of the corner of her eye as she practices her routines, or as he talks with Barnum, and is sure he watches her back. Or perhaps that's just wishful thinking, Lettie's many comments over the past weeks altering her perception of his actions.

Nonetheless, Anne does realise her first impression of him had indeed been wrong. Perhaps she had been too defensive, too inclined to believe every stranger to share the same beliefs as their protestors. Whatever she had thought, Mr. Carlyle is not like that.

He is always kind to her and the other performers, always soft spoken and sensible. She often hears him talk at length with Barnum about all manner of things she would have thought beneath him, like the comfort of the performers or the price of the tickets to the circus.

Once, she had even watched as he had ushered a handful of urchin children, many of them colored, into the circus in secret. Anne knew they could not possess the money needed to pay for their entry, and yet still Mr. Carlyle had let them in, smiling kindly when they shrieked their thanks. When he had seen her then, watching from the doorway of the ladies' changing rooms, he had appeared quite surprised and embarrassed. But Anne had simply smiled at him, perhaps the first heartfelt smile she had ever given him. As flustered as he was, he had smiled back, a sweet blush on his cheeks.

Although she will never say as much to anyone, _especially_ Lettie, Anne slowly finds herself somewhat enamoured with Mr. Carlyle. It's a silly thing, a harmless crush she tells herself, and yet there it is. The slight breathlessness she feels as he passes by, the way her cheeks will heat when he smiles at her. Small reactions she cannot help and tells herself will go away eventually.

\--------- 

Phillip thinks he must be going mad. Never before has he felt the way he does around Anne. Even the barest glimpse of her is enough to set his heart racing, pupils dilating in anticipation of her presence. She takes his breath away, and it always takes numerous heart-pounding seconds before he is finally able to giddily retrieve it. And goodness but when she _smiles_ at him, shy and small like she can't help herself, he thinks his heart may well burst.

Moreover, work at the circus is as exciting and invigorating as he had hoped, his life suddenly full of color and mayhem. His old occupation pales in comparison; no matter how much his mother frets and tries to convince him to return to it, he cannot imagine living the life that the old Phillip Carlyle had lived.

Perhaps the only downside to the whole experience is W.D., Anne's brother. Over the past few weeks, Phillip has come to know W.D., and to know how fiercely he protects his sister. Almost every time the pair had run into each other, or even smiled at each other, there W.D. had been, a disapproving frown on his face. Though the man did not explicitly say as much, Phillip could tell he disliked Phillip, or at least Phillip's interest in Anne.

Phillip tries his best to ignore it, but even a man as confident as he could not withstand such harsh scrutiny for long, especially from someone so close to Anne.

And thus he had decided to do what, in hindsight, he realises is his go-to solution to most problems: throw money at it. Namely, he invited all of the circus performers and crew to a night at the bar, drinks on him.

Of course, as expected, the majority had accepted his offer, including W.D. Anne, unfortunately, had politely declined, but this deterred Phillip not a single bit. He is not used to being disliked, either due to his good looks or his standing in society, and is therefore determined to change W.D.'s feelings towards him.

Which, admittedly, he has not done very well, so far.

W.D. is sitting a few stools down from Phillip, to his right, laughing merrily at some joke Charles is telling him. As much as he would like to march over and join the conversation, Phillip cannot help but feel like an outsider; like it would be an imposition to go over and force his company on them when they are so relaxed and happy on their own.

He is only just building up the courage to join them when a drunken voice from behind him catches his attention, the name on the stranger's lips all too familiar.

"...no, her name _is_ Anne, I tell you. That's her name," a drunk man slurs to his friend, head bent low as though he means to speak in private. "Such pretty, pretty lips and- and those legs! Imagine them wrapped around you!" 

"What, her legs or her lips?" His friend sputters back, spittle flying as he guffaws like he has told the best of jokes.

"Why not both?" The first man replies, lewd grin on his face. "When I first saw her in that tiny little outfit, I just knew she was a _whore_ -"

Phillip is up and out of his seat in the blink of an eye, the man's coat fisted tightly in hand as he stares the startled man in the eye.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices W.D. has joined him, cornering the other drunk man, face thunderous.

"Take. That. Back." Phillip hisses, shaking the man in his grip.

"What? What do you me-" the man stops abruptly, noticing W.D., and perhaps also recognising who Phillip is. "Oh. _Ohhhh_. Well, why should I? She _is_ a whore, a good for nothing tramp-" 

Now, Phillip is normally quite the sensible type, never prone to violence. But in this instance, it is only natural that he should make a fist and connect said fist with the drunk man's face - to continue to do so until his knuckles are bruised and the man is whimpering and slobbering and apologising profusely against the floor.

Phillip only stops when he feels a large hand clamp down hard on his shoulder, holding him back. W.D. stands beside him, grim faced and with bruised knuckles himself, the man he had cornered unconscious in his seat.

"That's enough, Mr. Carlyle, I think he gets it."

"Phillip, call me Phillip."

"Alright... Phillip," W.D. smiles hesitantly at him - as though Phillip has surprised him - an expression Phillip returns readily.

With the help of a few other patrons, circus crew who had heard all that had occurred, they dump the two drunk men outside. Thankfully they had not been from the circus themselves, or Phillip may well have been unable to leave well enough alone where they were concerned.

He turns to return inside, still quite angry that any man should think of someone as sweet and lovely as Anne in such a crass and disgusting manner, when W.D.'s hand on his arm stops him.

At Phillip's questioning glance, W.D. squares his shoulders, that all to familiar frown on his face.

"Now, look, Mr. Carl- _Phillip_. Much as I appreciated this, I won't lie to you. I don't appreciate the way you look at my sister," W.D. says, arms crossed over his broad chest. "She's young and naive, and she doesn't need you putting thoughts in her head that have no business being there, alright?"

"W.D...." Phillip sighs, trying to think of a way to say what he wants to without raising the other man's hackles further. "I won't lie to you, either. I do admire Anne, and I have found her to be the most singularly wonderful, most beautiful woman I have ever met. _But_ , I can assure you, I have no intention of... _putting ideas_ in her head. I respect her, and I want to be her friend. I would also like to be your friend, though honestly that is something I am finding exceedingly difficult." 

Phillip laughs self-deprecatingly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. W.D. is frowning still, though Phillip is glad to see it is not the inherently disapproving frown he has been on the receiving end of for so long. Finally, after some consideration, W.D. seems to come to a decision, expression clearing. He claps Phillip on the back, smiling, and leads him back into the bar. His hand is tight on Phillip's shoulder, not quite unbearably so, but close.

"Alright then, Phillip," W.D. smirks, challenge in his eyes. "let's be friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think of Phillip? He's crushing veeeery hard, isn't he?


End file.
